Harry The Fool
by 0ldMonk
Summary: Harry Potter couldn't let his godfather take the curse, so he jumped in front of him, unfortunately, his protego wasn't quite up. The Veil devoured him wholly.
1. Prologue

**Preface:**

 _Bunnies everywhere. Too many. Yes, this another one after I took a look in our HP/GoT Crossover section and interestingly did not found one which had Harry Potter either reincarnated or transported on the iron islands as an ironborn._

 _So naturally, I asked myself why and came to the conclusion that it could be that a) everyone hates the wannabe vikings a.k.a ironborn or b) Harry Potter did not fit into the ironborn society._

 _So with that in mind, I decided to write this. Well, Harry Potter would of course be very hesitant to live amongst the ironborn, but nothing is ever certain. As they say: everything is possible. In this case, there will be circumstances which would explain why he did what he did etc.  
_

My premise:

 _Harry Potter took the curse instead of his godfather, Sirius Black, which threw him into the Veil. He isn't the old veteran which everyone seems to write, no he's the naive kid who will experience the cruel reality. He will change or meet the Stranger. Being an ironborn is quite hard. All the work just for the iron price.  
_

 ** _Disclaimer:_**

 ** _1) The character Harry Potter is trademarked by J.K. Rowling._**

 ** _2) Game of Thrones is trademarked by HBO._**

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 **Prologue**

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Harry Potter gasped, snapping his eyelids open, clenching his fists as he coughed the water out. While panting, breathing shallow and feeling the pain in his whole body, he turned his head to the side. His first mate crawled to the axe nearby, took hold of the handle and hid it under his chest as he laid on it.

His eyes saw a blurring frame closing on them. As he narrowed his eyes, he could recognize a white merman holding a trident on a blue-green background of the shield. House Manderly.

Harry's left hand patted his waist, searching for the grip of the familiar short sword to no avail. He snapped his head to the front and saw his scabbard laying innocently in the wet sand. As if taunting him.

His heart pounded. The furious pace all too familiar. His eyes quickly adjusted to the dark as he laid on the back. He saw other men-at-arms with Manderly's sigil.

Back to his first mate, he saw the man-at-arms' spear threatening to pierce the neck of his friend. But before the spear could prick the neck, his friend struck his right hand out, gripping the shaft and pulled the man-at-arms to him. His friend turned his whole body so that he laid on the back as the man-at-arms was pulled to the ground next to him. The axe rose. It went down on the enemy. Again and again. Blood splashed. The face of his first mate was painted red.

Harry's attention was stolen by the other man-at-arms near him. Before the man-at-arms could rush to his friend, Harry gripped the leather boots with his right hand and pulled with as much force he could muster while ignoring the pain from the abrupt movement. The man-at-arms wasn't prepared for that. He landed heavily on the back.

Harry fell on him like a hungry vulture, his head bashed into the helmetless man, getting the enemy to lose his grip on the bastard sword while Harry's right hand landed on the grip of the enemy's dagger which he took hold and pulled it out. With the dagger in his hand, he forced it into the neck. The man-at-arms gurgled, his eyes wide; the fear from the Stranger visible.

He looked back to his friend who nodded at him as he looted the corpse. It was fortunate that the night covered their activities. The armour was stripped bare from the corpse and exchanged with his pathetic excuse of armour, a mismatched piece of shit. The gambeson fitted him nicely. And the sword wasn't all too bad as it had a nice weight behind it with a sharp edge. The shield was useful, very valuable twofold: firstly, additional protection against arrows and secondly, to disguise himself as a Manderly's man-at-arms.

The reason was that Manderly's men-at-arms had the whole beach surrounded, crawling around like ants to kill his men. He grimaced. His men were dying and he couldn't do anything. His arms were once again bound by reality. Without a wand, his magic was practically useless to some parlour tricks like little tickling with a normal bludger spell.

A hand shook him out of his thoughts. "Harry, we need to escape now." His friend's mine was grim.

Harry hesitated and looked back. His men were slaughtered, even the injured ones. Some struggled desperately against the onslaught of enemies. He whispered, "What is dead may never die." A homage to his dying men.

"But rises again, harder and stronger." His friend continued the prayer with his right hand clutched into a fist over the heart.

With gritted teeth, he nodded. "Let's go."

Harry's grip on the sword was far too hard for his knuckles, yet as they neared men-at-arms in Manderly's sigil, nervosity hit him like a brick. His eyes watched them warily, focusing on every detail. He was ready, even a little too eager to invert the hold of his sword so he could use the Mordhau to pummel the knight who sauntered to them. Yet, he halted the motion, acting as if he admired the sword instead of gripping the blade for a thunder stroke. His fear triggered his instincts which he could, fortunately, suppress before it was far too late.

"Halt, where'ye going?" He glanced at his friend whose grip on the sword tightened considerably.

"Sire, the work made us hungry." The knight paused. He could imagine the incredulous expression behind the steel helmet. Two men-at-arms. One of them had his face painted full of blood; the coppery smell obvious.

"Ye got the short sword from some ironborn?"

"Yes, Ser" - His eyes searched for a sigil on the knight - "Tully."

"Ser Brynden Tully." Bloody Hell! The Blackfish. He bowed his head to hide his uneasy expression while his first mate did the same, showing respect to a higher noble.

The Blackfish asked, "You first kill?" Apparently, his expression was too obvious to hide. At least, he interpreted it as uneasiness because of the first kill.

He held back the curse which threatened to escape from his salty mouth and instead nodded faintly. The famous knight patted his shoulder and said, "Good man. Get some rest."

He sighed. "Thank you, milord." The knight nodded and went his ways.

"Vickard, do you think Stannis Baratheon smashed our fleet?" The words were hard to utter as it would mean that the war was lost or soon would be.

Vickard just stared at him. "Did you lost ye wits?"

"Merlin's beard!" The curse slipped involuntarily out of his mouth.

"I shan't for the life of me understand why ye swear to some Greenlander's name." He cracked a smile. A wistful one at that. Ron. He hoped he was alright. Sadness overwhelmed him. He would never meet them again. Weasley's warm love. Hermione's nagging. The mischievousness of the Twins. His godfather, Sirius Black. Albus Dumbledore, his mentor. And -

His back was smacked, almost tripping him. He glared at the offender whose face was marred by concern.

"I'm alright."

"Really?" Vickard's disbelieving face annoyed him. He knew he wasn't a good liar at all, but come on.

"Yes, mother." He dragged the last word. In the end, he sighed in defeat. "It's just the war."

Vickard frowned. "Even if the naval battle was lost -"

"No, they couldn't hold the iron islands against the might of the Seven Kingdoms." He wasn't that naive. The war was lost.

Harry stumbled, finding grip on a tree beside him. "What will now happen to the iron islands?" He feared the answer, after all, the loser always paid for the price.

"King Robert Baratheon isn't a mere beast." Yet, it did not sway him from the pessimistic thoughts which plagued him. His grip on the bark tightened. His face betrayed his true thoughts.

"Harry" - His friend paused while trying to find the right words - "Harry, she's fine. She'll be fine. Trust me." He stared, really stared into the very brown eyes of his friend. He trusted him. He knew that he had Vickard's back. A good first mate. A good friend.

He shook his head, clearing his chaotic thoughts. "Alright, let's go home."

"Vickard, we need horses." They followed the men-at-arms into the camp. As far as his eyes could see, tents and banners were strewn across the field. Levies who ate their meal. Men-at-arms trying to outdo each other with tales of bravery. Stories of murder. Knights punishing the squires for small mistakes for the ego.

They came near a group of levies harassing a girl. "Ye little whore."

"Give us some respect." The man slapped the girl, laughing all the while with the others. His furious glare was noticed by them.

"Oh, only some men-at-arms." Harry scoffed audibly.

He said, "Let her go and I will spare you." The levies looked to each other and bowled over into a laughing fit.

His hand went to the grip, unsheathing the short sword out in a wide arc, pointing it at the neck of the man whose expression froze; his open mouth showed his foul teeth for the lack of care. The laughing stopped. Silence. The tension was thick enough for the eye to see its visible spectrum. Hands went to the pommels. Swords were drawn.

Harry cut the silence with his voice. "I said."

He raised his voice. "Let! Her. Go." His eyes watched them like hawks. No armour. The missing gleam of the blades was an indication of lazy maintenance. Which meant it wasn't sharpened; it was dull. The stances looked like an affront to all who knew how to fight competently. Unbalanced. One of them didn't even grip the handle rightly; the center of mass completely off.

He could smell the fear of them as they warily stared at him, daring him to make the first move. Which he did. He closed in on the levy he had threatened with the swordpoint before. The levy fumbled with his sword, trying to get it out of the scabbard in time, yet far too late as he was cut open in the chest by Harry.

He bashed a desperate spear thrust lazily to the side and slashed down on the enemy who overextended. The neck was cut. Blood spurted out, painting his disguise red.

Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Vickard dispatching his foe by crossing swords with him, taking his dagger out and stabbing into the neck.

He moved the shield a little forward, blocking an overhead swing which bounced harmlessly off and let him thrust his sword into the side of the foe who dared to swing at him. He bashed his shield into the pathetic foe and used that to push him into the next one who rushed to him. His sword slid out of the flesh amidst the screams of the dying fool.

With his sword freed and the rushing fool stopped in his tracks, he pounced on him. With a diagonal slash upwards, he opened the contents of the stomach. Intestines spread on the ground.

Harry looked around and saw the last foe struck down by his friend.

Vickard chuckled a little. "You know, Harry, I like ye noble disposition."

"Every time you see a damsel in distress, it goes violent."

He continued. "Females like that." His smug face irritated Harry who turned to the girl, ignoring his friend.

His attention went to the dying man whose life still didn't end yet. "May... Stranger take ye!" Vickard thrust his sword into him, ending the painful struggle.

He smiled uncertainly. "Ah, s'rry f'r that." Harry just shook his head.

"Thank you, my Sers." She skittered away like a scared animal.

"Well."

Harry sighed. "Shut it."

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 **Author's Note:**

 _As you can guess, I played a little with sword combat, at least HEMA. I tried to portray it as realistically and sensible as possible. Nothing flashy here.  
_

 _Tell me what you think of it._


	2. The Hero

**Author's note:**

"Would be more interesting without the stupid unreal cursing to Merlin that is very much fanon." - Guest 2

 _Let's ignore the first part. Your argument is essentially: To let Harry Potter utter the swear words "Merlin's beard" is stupid and unreal, because it's fanon._

 _Which isn't quite right, no actually it is totally wrong. First, it exist in canon be it movie, pottermore or books._

 _For example:_

 _ **'Merlin's beard!' exclaimed Mr Weasley wonderingly, pulling Harry aside to let them all pass. 'You were tried by the full court?' - excerpt out of Harry Potter and the Order of Phoenix**  
_

 _Professor Slughorn used it too. Ron Weasly also.  
_

 ** _However, using "Merlin" to replace "God" was fanon._**

 _So it isn't unreal as these persons were wizards and witches, so we could assume that some of the Wizarding World used them in their daily lives. Now for the stupid part. That doesn't make sense. I assume that you meant: to swear "Merlin's beard" was stupid because of fanon (It isn't quite stupid if many fanfic writers used it in their stories, but oh well).  
_

 _I do not really know where you concluded that it was fanon... I mean a simple research could have told you more.  
_

 _Now for the first part: "Would be more interesting"_

 _Although, it is your personal opinion, but I shall tell you mine: It wouldn't be less interesting as I did that intentionally to let the reader know that he hadn't quite accustom himself to the culture. Wasn't so subtle, but sometimes subtlety isn't even needed. After all, for every task, there's a tool.  
_

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 _To **Carissa** who was so nice to give me her name... I asked ma friend google who told me yours is of Greek origin which means "grace" or "beloved". Apparently, the poem "The Fearie Queene" coined it. Well, that was quite the interesting read._

 _So thank you. Also, ffn filters everything with urls (links).  
_

 _To all: Happy reading!_

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 **The Hero**

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"Avada Kedavra!" The voice of Bellatrix Lestrange echoed in the chamber.

In the Curse's path was his godfather, the man who was the last link to his dead parents, the man who sacrificed his future to avenge his parents. He couldn't let his godfather just to die after he went through all the torture. He reacted without thinking. He was too far away. No time for Accio. Instead, he concentrated on his goal. To switch place with his godfather. Transfiguration.

He won't let him die.

He swapped position with his target instantly and was now in the path of the Killing Curse. Nothing could block it. Acting on instinct, his hand rose - the wand in the position to block the curse.

The lethal curse met his trusty holly and phoenix wand. The explosion threw him back. A tear slipped down his cheek as he watched his wand vanishing into dust. The warm he would never feel anymore as the cold embraced him wholly.

He saw his godfather's expression. Terror. Pure stricken terror.

"Harry!" Sirius tried to get a hold of him, but it was already far too late as he felt himself become numb. The last sight was the despairing face of his godfather, the man he admired.

Ah, the Veil. He was quite the fool. A moron. Sorry, Hermione.

Harry Potter hoped at least that he made his parents proud. After all, he would meet them in the afterlife.

He found himself in a void. Emptiness. He couldn't describe it. It was. It just was.

"And thus pages were ripped out." The strange low voice whispered in his ear. He turned around. Nothing.

Where did it come?

"The protagonist of the story seeks another adventure" - The mysterious voice paused as if considering the next words - "after his failed one." A sinister undertone accompanied the spoken words.

He clenched his fists. "Who are you?" Silence.

The silence continued. Harry didn't like it.

So, instead, he tried to ask differently, "Where am I?" He hoped his tone didn't convey his impatience.

"You want to know?" It giggled. The creepy nature of the voice made him uneasy. It cackled disturbingly.

Until it stopped abruptly. "Why should I tell you?" He bit back the insults he really wanted to utter at this madness.

With his patience already tested, he said, "Because" - He paused, not knowing what to say to it.

"Because?" The grating voice taunting him obviously.

He ignored the not so subtle mockery of him and gave the voice a reason. "Because I am the guest."

"Because you are a guest?" It asked.

He answered uncertainly, "Yes, I dunno about this place. I guess it's your home?" That was the only thing he could think of. A bizarre experience.

"Well well well." Claps sounded out. "That would make me the host."

He nodded faintly. It should be obvious, right?

"Does your knowledge reach the sacred guest rights?" He shook his head. He never heard of that.

"You are a guest. Yet you did not eat salt and bread."

He almost cried out in surprise as cold fingers gripped his face from behind. "You are not protected." He felt a disgusting cold wet tongue licking his cheek, yet he couldn't turn his head as the grip held him in place. His wide eyes went to the far right, trying to get a glance from the monster.

"Y-You didn't offer!" The licking stopped. His heart beat furiously, waiting with bated breath for its next actions.

It hummed.

The cold grip vanished. He could breathe again. His fingers touched his right cheek, feeling the cold fluid. He sniffed it. He averted his face in disgust. It smelled rotten. A putrid stench.

As if a corpse just had licked him.

It laughed, making him very wary. The laughter rung out till it stopped the instant he covered his ears.

"Harry Potter, son of James F. Potter and Lily J. Potter née Evans" - It paused - "I offer you salt and bread in my humble abode."

His feet went cold. He looked down and saw water rising. "W-What?!" It rose until it stopped by his neck.

Fortunately, he knew how to swim, yet the cold tortured him.

"There is your salt. Now for your bread." Corpses appeared on the surface. He shouted, "Please! What do you want?!" He lost the necessary energy to move his limbs as the cold sapped all of it.

A short giggle again. "You are quite the naive boy." As he drowned in the salt water, darkness crept into his vision.

Harry Potter's lids snapped open, greeted by the sun. He tried to breathe but instead coughed. Something was in his throat. The coughing fit continued. Till it exploded out of his mouth and landed on the water. Now, he noticed his surroundings.

"Bloody Hell." Water as far as his eyes could see.

He moved to the object that was seconds earlier in his throat. His limbs were tired. He ignored the ache and continued to it. His fingers touched the paper. He brought it to his face and read, "Welcome to Westeros, my dear Hero."

"It wasn't a dream." He whispered almost in a daze. And where was Westeros? What did it mean? Why -

A yell. His head snapped to the left. He discovered a ship. He repeatedly shouted, "Help!" He even moved his arms, letting his legs do the work to hold his neck over the water. It was hard.

Fortunately, he was apparently noticed as the ship set course to him. Before his legs could give up, a rope was thrown at him which he grabbed eagerly. His tired aching arms pulled his weight up. Left arm. Right arm. Left. Right. Until he was on the deck, laying on his back exhausted.

He really wanted to sleep right now. The last time he swam so much was in the tournament for Ron's and Gabrielle Delacour's life.

Yet, a kick shook him out of his musings. "Stand up! Ye greenlander."

He slowly stood up and saw the crew. Was he on a pirate ship? The pirates stared at him, some spat on the ground, showing disdain to him. All were armed with swords and axes.

"Why did we save this useless cunt, captain?" He wasn't useless. And not a bloody cunt at that.

"Because I was bored that's why." The captain, a man with a tall stature, towering over his frame. The captain had a disgusting beard. Wait. Fingers?! He just stared at the chopped fingers bound by the twisted hairs of the beard. He gulped as he stepped back.

His back hit something cold. "Ye fear, I can smell." As the cold feeling disappeared, a cut was drawn on his cheek by a knife as he could see the glint. "P-Please, I'm not even armed." His finger felt the fresh wound. The pain was little in contrast to his aching arms.

Laughter. "As if he could harm a fly even with a sword." The captain cackled, swinging his axe up and down.

"Well jested. For that, I grant ye time to convince me not kill ye little cunt."

He thought fast. "I can fight." He tried to sound confident, but he fooled no one.

"If't ye can fight truly, my moth'r would've axe h'r way thru the whole Seven Kingdoms." Another bout of laughing. At him again. He really wanted to hex them. But his wand...

"Ah, fuck that. I dub thee Fool. Now go with the oth'r thralls and make yourself useful." The captain finally announced his fate. At least, he wasn't to be killed. But what were thralls?

Threatened by the knife of a pirate with foul breath, he was lead to a quarter full of other humans.

"Learn how to be a thrall, Fool." He averted his face at the foul smell. His guide laughed all the while he sauntered away.

Harry stared at his fellow... thralls. He tasted the word. It was a strange word. He could guess that it wasn't positive at all. Obviously. The occupants ignored him and laid on their pile of straws.

He asked, whilst hoping for someone to clarify everything, "What's a thrall?"

He got odd looks, even pity, while others snorted. His temper got the better of him. "What the bloody hell is a thrall?"

An old man in rags sighed. "A slave." At Harry's disbelieving face, he continued. "Not a slave in the eyes of the Sevens, but a slave nonetheless."

Harry let himself fall to his butt. The whole situation was too surreal. Nothing made sense. He died, did he? Yet, why was he even alive? Was it all a dream?

"Boy, what's ye name?" He looked blankly for a moment before he answered, "Harry Potter." He hoped the man recognized his name.

Yet, the old man didn't. "Ye can call me Old Torrhen."

"In which kingdom were ye born?" At his blank stare, he instead asked, "Where lay ye roots?"

"England." He answered softly.

Old Torrhen hummed. The silence stretched until he said, "Must be in Essos."

"Essos?" He got queer looks from others, yet he ignored them.

"Another continent. The ship's destination is the iron islands which belongs to Westeros." Westeros. The paper!

"Tell me more about Westeros, Torrhen." The old man smiled a wistful one as he moved his legs a little to make himself comfortable.

"Make ye comfortable. Today the crew is feasting."

Old Torrhen answered his unasked question, "A good plunder." He grimaced.

"Westeros -" A female scream interrupted him. He exploded into motion; the fatigue forgotten while the burning nerves ignored.

In the narrow corridor, he saw how a pirate handled a girl, groping her, obviously forcing himself on her. He ran to the git who noticed him, pushed the girl hard to the ground that she cried out in pain as he faced Harry.

"Come ye thrall!" He ignored the taunt and jumped on the bastard before he could take out his dagger. Both of them fell down to the ground. His opponent's breath was knocked out while he also lost the grip of the dagger. The dull noise swayed his attention to it. It laid nearby so that he could grap it potentially.

A punch stunned him, punishing him for his distraction. Another punch and he was knocked on his back. He saw the dagger coming for his throat. On instinct, he shouted, "Accio dagger!" The small dagger flew to his right hand which he used to stab into the pirate.

The pirate's eyes widened in shock or surprise, he didn't know but he was definitely surprised. The body slumped down. He pushed it to the side.

"Bugger."

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 **Author's Note:**

 _I edited the apparition out as it was a fickle plothole in many ways, so instead Harry used the Switching spell which belongs to the subject Transfiguration. And James now has the middle name F. for Fleamont after his father.  
_

 _Thank you, Still Not Dead Yet. I appreciate your help._

 _I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Tell me as always what you liked and what you not liked.  
_


	3. Fool's Gamble

**Author's Note:**

 _Thank you all for the feedback, it definitely helped me to write this chapter. This particular fanfic is just a brief break from the others, because I need to research some stuff which quite honestly is interesting but sometimes dry like a sandpaper. Well, I'm writing all my fics with my pants off and a loose guideline.  
_

 _Although, I will be busy for the next months. So updating will be sporadic. But we shall see.  
_

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 **Fool's Gamble**

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Harry Potter's legs were frozen as if he was charmed by the Immobulus. He stood in front of a crowd full of sneering pirates, although they call themselves ironborn, he couldn't disassociate the thought that they were just filthy pirates.

"This greenland'r hath killed Rodrik." The greenlander was apparently an insult.

Another said, in between the laughter from the crowd, "Ye mean a thrall hath kill him." The captain chuckled actually. He couldn't contain his bewilderment, after all, he killed one of them. Shouldn't they all be furious at him?

"The Fool had the balls," the captain said, "consider me impressed."

And being killed by a greenlander was shameful. He got it. He wasn't stupid. At least, he won't be killed, right?

"He paid the iron price." The whole crowd went silent. He didn't like the serious looks at all. He was being scrutinized by all, especially by the captain's harsh blue eyes. What was the iron price anyway?

"Ye name." The captain stared at him, daring him to ignore the order.

"Harry Potter." He wasn't scared at all. He faced Voldemort time and time again.

"I told ye, captain, this greenland'r some fancy noble." The pirate who played with the knife which danced around his fingers like he often saw by street performers, spoke again.

The captain turned his head slightly to the side. " 'Twas a fool's bet. I'm not blind, Dagmer."

Dagmer caught the tip of the knife perfectly between his two fingers. "Aye, the silken dress must be something out of Essos."

The captain raised an eyebrow. "Thought ye would fight him f'r it."

"Now." Dagmer's answer brought the captain into a coughing fit, no, rather a laughing fit. Once again he was confused. Wait.

He couldn't believe that his clothing was valuable at all, but the looks he got convinced him otherwise. Like some hungry wolves.

As he inspected his grey jersey and his black jeans, he grimaced as a thought struck him. He glanced at the crowd and saw the strange clothing articles which were quite admittingly shit. He was the only one with decent clothing. Well, modern at least.

Bollocks.

The captain hummed in thought.

In the end, he said, "Let him play the finger dance." Harry got looks of mocking pity.

"Tis but a won game." He saw a pirate with an axe shaking his head.

"Ye right. He won't stand a chance." Could someone explain the game?

So he asked, "What's this finger dance?" He got wide grins as far as his eyes could see.

"I bet two stags he'll lose his whole hand."

Another joined, "Five stags, he'll lose just four fingers before he'll cry on the ground."

"Ten stags. One finger and he'll give up." That really irked him. He didn't like the direction at all if all won't have confidence in him as it meant his opponent, Dagmer, was apparently very good in this finger dance.

"Shut ye mouth, cunts!" The captain shouted. Silence.

"Now, Fool, it's quite a simple game. A traditional game. The law even. One of ye will begin to throw an axe at the other while he catches or dodges it. The loser will lose his fingers or die." At the end of his sentence, he bowled over, cackling madly at his own funny pun.

He said hesitantly, "I understand." He didn't really. Although, he could easily catch things thrown at him. It was the very description of a seeker. It was just... why would someone play this clearly insane game?

"I win, ye will strip ye fancy clothes." - Dagmer cackled - "Some of us would want to see a little boy naked." Harry saw that some licked their lips in anticipation. Disgusting.

"I -"

Harry was interrupted by the captain who held the girl, he had saved earlier, by her hairs. She sobbed. The pain all too obvious. Unconsciously, he stepped forward.

He yelled, "Let her go!"

The captain took out a dagger and held it far too close to her neck, drawing a little blood.

With a slightly lowered voice, he tried to reason. "She has nothing to do with all this." The bastards laughed at him.

"Tis just a little motivation, after all, you saved her like a good knight that ye'."

"You bloody bastard!" If he had just his wand...

"Aye, my father fuck'd his way thru many whores." The captain admitted unconcerned, not ashamed in the slightest.

"Ye win the game, ye win the little whore here." Harry really wanted to punch the smug smile out of him. "Or ye could just opt out and I'll fuck her till she dies. Now choose, Fool."

His glared at the bastard. With a grim mine, he said, "I will win." The bastard smiled with his crooking foul teeth.

It was a promise. He didn't break them easily.

"Alright, here catch" - An axe was lazily thrown at him - "and show ye worth, green boy."

Harry reacted, his right hand struck forward and caught the handle of the axe. The weight was little on the heavier side, but he could manage it. A snitch was more difficult than this.

He looked at the axe and then turned to look at Dagmer who taunted him with his tongue. "Eh, I should throw that, right?" Of course.

The handle was a little wet with his sweat as he gripped it tightly.

He tossed the axe a little high up in the sky, carefully not to mess the trajectory and injure others. He didn't want to kill again. As much as he didn't like them, he wouldn't just kill them in cold murder.

The axe was caught without much effort from Dagmer as it flew in a parable.

"Ye really ar' a fool." Dagmer shook his head. "I'm feeling a little pity even."

The sad look cracked, morphed into a wide grin. "As if. I'm an ironborn. There's no pity f'r some pathetic greenland'r."

Dagmer hurled the axe straight at him.

The axe spun, fast at him. Time slowed down. His instinct acted up. His right arm swung forward. Palm open to meet the incoming object. It met the wooden handle. His fingers clasped around it as the force struck him. It dissipated as he let his muscle do the work, bracing against it with his shoulder.

Dagmer clapped. His claps were slow. "At least, the boy can catch."

"Now, throw it like a man." Harry's hesitation was seen by the captain who then slapped the girl. She cried out in pain, striking at his heart painfully.

"Alright! Don't hurt her, bastard!" The hand of the captain instead caressed her cheeks.

With a grimace, he clenched the handle and hurled it with so much force he could muster with his tired arms straight into Dagmer. Unfortunately, it was caught with a little more effort, yet it wasn't enough to win the game. He would need to use magic. But without a wand, it was...

No, he could. Wandless magic was possible. He could clearly see that Dagmer was very proficient in that game while Harry relied on instinct which he honed through matches of Quidditch as a Seeker. The game would go on without a winner in sight until one of them tired. He was already tired. His arms ached. He even had difficulties to remain awake. Yet, he gritted his teeth and focused on the deadly game. It wasn't just his fingers, but a life of an innocent.

He would need to use his magic in a subtle way. Wandlessly at that. He doubted himself. Impossible was impossible. But, he couldn't let the doubt conquer himself.

Harry narrowed his eyes as he saw the axe coming.

He could influence the thrown axe with his will if he timed it right. It wouldn't be easy, but if he didn't win... Harry glanced at the girl whose expression was of despair like that of his godfather at the last moment.

He won't fail someone again. He confronted Voldemort, the most feared Dark Wizard in history. He was Harry Potter.

He muttered absently, "I am Harry Potter."

He caught the thrown axe again. The blade upside down. His palm deep red from the impact. It hurt. Yet, the pain wasn't important. He would win.

Perhaps...

Harry changed the grip so that the axe blade was up as he clutched the handle.

As he took a deep breath, he stepped with the left forward, using that momentum from his hips, he hurled the axe straight back, ignoring his aching shoulder as he forced it through the pain. His eyes followed the axe like a hungry hawk after his prey. He saw Dagmer preparing to catch it with the left hand. At this moment, he willed the magic into existence.

His focus laid on the axe as he forced the word out. "Depulso." Something invisible simmered into existence which only he could feel. It spread out of his right hand straightforward in an arc, hitting the crowd like a breeze. The axe in its path gained additional acceleration.

Dagmer's eyes bulged as the axe missed his left hand and hit him in the chest, the blade cut deeply in. He coughed blood as he fell back down the ground.

Harry's jaw hung loosely as he couldn't comprehend that which his eyes saw. He didn't expect to really hit Dagmer. He just wanted him to dodge. After that, he would win the game, right?

"Well, fuck." The captain simple said. The crowd was in an uproar.

"Fuck. My stags!" Others had the same expression of shock while some grumbled angrily at the lost bet.

"Eh, sorry?"

The captain stared at him puzzled as if he couldn't make sense of him. "Ye impressed me the first time ye killed Rodrik. Now. Ye really impressed me!" He laughed as if Harry didn't just kill one of his crewmembers. The crowd followed suit.

Harry was completely out of the field. He couldn't comprehend the insanity which befell him on the ship.

The captain calmed down his laugher till a coughing fit. With breathless face, he ordered to the crowd. "Cunts! Shut the fuck up!"

The crowd fell into a collective coughing fit as they all tried to silence their laughing with not much success.

"Now" - The captain raised his voice - "I am Dalton Pyke and welcome on the Fingerdancer, Harry The Fool."

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 **Author's Note:**

 _Ironborn won't really give much fuck to each other most of the time. Of course, some build bonds, but generally might is justice. Show your worth and they will have you onboard with a smile.  
_

 _As always, tell me what you liked or what you don't._


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